


Breaking

by thebrokenangel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrokenangel/pseuds/thebrokenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandom: Sherlock BBC<br/>Characters: John and Sherlock<br/>Genre: Slash<br/>Spoilers: 2x03<br/>Warnings: X-rating</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Lately I have been enamored with Sherlock BBC. This particular fan fiction is written post Reichenbach Falls. It is full slash and hopefully true to character... PS Benedict Cumberbatch is teh hotness!

John Watson knew after what happened at St Bart's only one person would have been able to pick up on the fact that he had died inside right along with his best friend. Since it was the said same friend who would be the one to know he knew no one would now.

After he forced himself to get over the initial shock of it he returned to the flat they had shared. He had even brought himself to collect up all of Sherlock's things, experiments, everything... alright almost everything, Sherlock's violin remained in his chair. He put everything else neatly and carefully into Sherlock's room.

He went and reclaimed his job at the surgery seeing patient. He couldn't say he cared about those patients but no one would ever know the difference. He would consult on cases with Lestrade, if only to prove Holmes was right.

Mycroft had ceased all communication with him, which in John's world was fine. One last thing to remind him of what he had lost. He thought it was sweet that Molly would check up on him. Even Mrs. Hudson could be a dear. The only sign that Sherlock's death was affecting him was the fact he stopped dating. All of his friends thought it was because he was working so hard, but he knew if he had really wanted to he could have made time for dating.

Every day he woke up drenched in sweat from the nightmare of watching as Sherlock plunged to his death. The light from the sun became a little dimmer. Still no one knew the silent hell he was living in.

The idea of ending the pain had just begun to truely take hold of him a year after Sherlock Holmes had died. John refused to believe it was suicide even though he had been on the other end of the line when he stepped off the ledge. The idea had a subtle begining. A Simple desire to hear Sherlock's voice one last time.

Molly came to see him. "How have you been?" She smiled a cheerful smile which John returned with a calm one.

"I've been well, just working alot." It was the same answer he always gave to everyone, since they didn't really want to know it always worked. He both loved and hated that fact.

The rest of the evening went as usual, take away she had brought. Some crap tele, then she would help clear up and then leave.

He was sitting in his chair staring at the violin, his service revolver resting on the arm under his hand. "I guess you weren't the genius you thought you were. I mean still dead aren't you?"

He could hear the anger and hurt in his own voice. It was the first time he had ever said things like that since the death. He hated himself for hating Sherlock for being dead.

"I was so alone before you came. You made me an unspoken promise that you'd always be here but you're not are you, Sherlock? Now I'm alone again. I've been trying to go on. I know you'd have wanted that. Prove I wasn't useless, a stupid lump, but I just can't do it anymore. I miss my best friend. I hate you for breaking your promise and I don't know how to reconcile that."

"Do you remember how you would whine like a child when I would have to stitch you? When I would tell you to stop squirming and you'd bellow how it hurt. Well I have been silently bellowing how it hurts. No one is listening and the only one who would have heard my silence is beyond all that now."

A sob grips John at this point. No sound only tears and breathlessness.

There is a creak on the stairs which makes John jerk up hiding the revolver on the mantle so Mrs. Hudson doesn't see. He scrubs his face with his hands facing the fire just as the steps carry Mrs. Hudson into the room. Only now that John is focusing on them they don't sound like Mrs. Hudson's foot falls. They are definately male. Only two other men ever entered 221B without ringing the bell and Sherlock is dead.

"What do you want Mycroft?" John asks without turning around. If it's a robber, or murderer then at least his pain will be over.

One single word shatters John, shatters him to the core. "John?"

Watson swings around knowing suddenly and without doubt that he has gone insane. There before him stands Sherlock. John has no idea what to say he's frozen in fear that the apparition will vanish if he even breaths.

"It had to look like I was dead John." Suddenly John steps forward punching Sherlock in the face.

"I saw you fall, I saw you die!" John is screaming and he doesn't care.

"Again you see but you do not observe." His lip is cut from the punch but he figures he deserves it after all Watson has been through.

John laughs bitterly, of course that is exactly what Sherlock would say. He walks back over to his chair and throws himself down into it. He isn't going to question him. He isn't going to depend on him. Not like before.

"Do you remember the lorry that was pulling away when you finally got to me? Do you remember what was in the back of the lorry?" Sherlock asks with the utmost patience like a parent to a child.

"Only you would be heartless enough not to be affected by the death of someone you love." There he said it, in anger but the realization of it's truth hit both of them hard.

"Matresses, John."

Watson laughed with a slightly hysterical edge, of course Holmes would ignore the emotion to continue proving he was smarter then everyone else.

The warm weight of Sherlock's hand on John's shoulder stopped the laughter. For just one moment John leaned into that touch. The touch that brought warmth, the first in a year, brought pain as well. Watson jerked out of that strong grip and stalked into the kitchen. "I suppose I should put the kettle on."

Holmes followed him. "Molly helped by providing the blood and lorry driver. Don't you see John it had to be this way."

John has filled the kettle and sets it almost silently on the stove to heat. The pain and rage are building inside of him again. Of course he would trust Molly with this secret and the bitch had kept the secret. His heart was howling in his chest again. The sound of it almost deafening to him. Then suddenly everything stopped as Sherlock awkwardly hugged him from behind. It took three long deep breaths before he could get his traitorous body to throw Holmes off.

"Don't." John breathed.

For just a split second the look of pain crossed Holmes' face but it was long enough for John and his trained observation skills to catch.

He moved closer to Holmes intending to hurt him as much as he had been hurting over the last year but in the end John's good nature won out. He quickly curled his hand behind Sherlock's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. His other hand depositing itself into the small of Sherlock's back.

At first Sherlock did not respond, then he felt the warm wetness transfer from John's cheek to his own and roll down to drip from his chin. The kiss had been a chasted one until Holmes got involved. His tongue stabbed out to gently worm it's way into John's mouth. John parted easily to him. They let their mouth say without words all that they had wanted to say but couldn't.

When Sherlock pulled John reflexively against him to be closer the difference in their height became instantly noticeable as John's neck bent painfully backward and he admitted a small hiss of pain. Even though he did not wish to break the kiss. Sherlock pull back releasing him only enough where his neck wasn't craned to that odd angle. He had caused John enough pain this last year to last a multitude of lifetimes and he couldn't hurt him anymore.

"Please Sherlock?" John's breathy voice begged.

It wasn't that Sherlock wasn't going to give John everything he wanted he just wasn't going to hurt him to do it. He quickly calculated that they were of a similar height in the torso. It was John's legs that weren't quite long enough. Holmes slid his hands along John's arms to hold his hands as his right foot reached out and pulled one of the sturdy kitchen chairs out. As he sat down in it he guided John over him, stradling him. Pulling him down to sit on his legs.

John got the message and leaned in kissing him again as his hands removed Sherlock's coat then working the buttons of his shirt free.

He pulled back looking down at the long expanse of white flesh he had revealed. His hand were almost shaking with need as he ran them across Holmes' chest. Gently brushing his nipples before pinching them and rolling them between thumb and forefinger.

Sherlock's head fell back as a deep penitrating moan spilled out of his perfect cupid bow lips. His hand clenched sposmatically on John's hips as his own bucked up to press their quickly stiffening cocks together through their trousers.

Watson's mouth decended on Sherlock's neck like a vampire on his dinner. Suckling and nipping it he was aware that he was speaking but couldn't focus on what he was saying, "It hurt Sherlock. I hurt. No one saw. I hated you for leaving me behind. Oh god Sherlock I love you."

Holmes heard it all his body reacting to John's skillful ministrations as he replied, "I know John. I saw John. I.I.I love you too John."

With Sherlock's words John's actions became hurried, too agressively needy. Holmes saw he was heading to a break down if he didn't do something.

"John!" He commanded. Forcing Watson back to look at him to focus on him.

"Ungh?" John questioned with slightly unfocused eyes.

Sherlock slapped him.

Terror, pain, rejection plain as day on John's face as he tried to struggle free from Sherlock's lap. Holmes' hands tightening almost painfully on John's hips pressing down forcing him to remain as the last of John's pain oozed out of his body. John's head slipping sideways to rest on Sherlock's shoulder.

They sat like that until John stopped trembling. It wasn't until the first soft snore against his throat that Sherlock realized John had passed out. Well at least he wouldn't break apart now. With as much care as he could he picked Watson up in his arms and carried him to his room. Setting him on the side of the bed he stripped him trying to remain clinical as John naked body was revealed.

He lay him under the covers before he finished undressing himself and crawling in with him. He moved to lay behind John pressing his body against John's back. He could see the raggedly healed scar on Watson's shoulder from the war wound as he curled his arm around John's waist holding him close.

His John. Sherlock lay thinking about the turn of events as John slept. John had always declared his heterosexual nature when anyone had ever implied they were a couple. Holmes himself had never before had any desire for men but here he was some tiny part of himself wish John to wakefullness so they could enjoy the delights of each other's bodies.

Would John still want him after his healing sleep and the realization that Sherlock wasn't going away again? At this point Sherlock knew if John did wake and desided he only wanted his friend back he would live with it. He also knew he would do everything in his power to insure John had no time for dating ever again. He nuzzled his wicked smile into John's bad shoulder. He knew Watson would never approve of the thoughts crossing his mind on how to drive anyone off from his John but he could revel in them while John was asleep.

Just as he had reveled a bit more in dispatching John's would be assassin. Moriarty was dead by his own hand, Sherlock had made sure it wasn't a trick. John was safe, well and truely safe. John moaned softly in his sleep. Holmes put his hand on his cheek and John quieted.

In that moment Sherlock did something he had never done before and would never admit to. He prayed to what ever being there was in the universe that John would still want him as more then a friend after he woke. He decided that even if his prayer went unanswered he would make it so, no matter how long it took. He was Sherlock Holmes after all. This pleased him, a return to true belief in himself.

It wasn't until that moment that he realized it was John who had made him his own god. John's belief in Sherlock that had given Holmes the power to be well and truely himself. He of course would never tell Watson this but it pleased him to know.

John Watson woke a bit put out at the morning light that stabbed through his closed eyelids dragging him from the wonderful dream he'd been having. It took him a moment to realize something was different.

Not wrong persay but definately different. Perhaps the splayed hand on his cock was his first clue. Or perhaps the definately male snore that emerged somewhere near his head.

He held his breath a moment while he screwed up his courage enough to open his eyes. There on the pillow case almost as white as the flesh of the man who slept there was Sherlock Holmes. Dark curls tangled attractively around his face which was currently mashed into that pillow.

As John studied the sharp cheekbones and slightly deformed cupid's bow lips, John felt a stab of guilt over punching him now, he realized a pair of ice blue eyes were looking back at him. He realized that hand that had been laying on his cock was now gently squeezing it.

Sherlock shifted slightly to be facing Watson directly his hand never stopping it's gentle rythmic sqeezing of his painfully hard cock. It didn't take much for John's hips to begin moving of their own accord. John's grey eyes never leaving the look of fascination on Sherlock's face. For one wild moment John knew what it was like to be one of Holmes' experiments. His heart and body stopped but Sherlock's hand continued adding friction to the rythmic squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

It was nearly more then John could take that early in the morning after the first decent's nights sleep in a year. He felt his balls drawing up against his body. He felt his orgasm near. His eyes tried to close on him but he was determined to watch Sherlock's face. To show Holmes everything he couldn't say. As the release of pentup emotions and need flooded through John one word betrayed him, "Sherlock!"

His eyes finally won as his body spasmed down through his cock and out into Sherlock's hand. He lay gasping seeking the control Holmes always seemed to have. He was terrified now to open his eyes. Afraid it had been a dream but as his breath slowed back to normal John Watson could still feel Sherlock Holmes craddling his flacid cock and he knew it wasn't a dream.

John opened his eyes and let them drag almost physically over Sherlock's body pausing where Sherlock's own physical reaction to what had just occured pulsed against the sheet. He let his hand slide from his own hip down along Sherlock's arm to his shoulder. From his shoulder in a slow almost airy touch he dragged his hand to Sherlock's hip under the sheet. Taking a deep breath he allowed his hand to slip over Sherlock's belly to his impressive swollen member.

"John?" Sherlock queried softly seeing the hesitation in John's face.

A nervous smile greeted Sherlock's deep baritone but John began to attempt to emulate Sherlock's movements from his own cock. Slowly as his confidence built with the small noises Holmes was emitting. Each moan an exquisite distraction that kept breaking his rythem. Some how it didn't matter that the rythem was breaking to Holmes, his body still reacted like an eager teenager.

His free hand clamped onto John's stroking hand, he let himself go with the abandon he used to only experience during his drug haze days. Now he knew what he had been missing all this time. He knew from the amazed look of pleasure on John's face he had been waiting for John all these years. He knows it is John because even the Woman never elicited this abandon in him. With her he had always had to be in control of himself and the situation because he knew though she had fallen in love with him she was not above using and hurting him. He knew John Watson, his John, never would.

He curled tightly around John's hand as his own release exploded.

John continued to craddle his swiftly deflating cock as the aftermath of his orgasm ebbed from him leaving him momentarily weak. Normally that would have bothered him but this time it left him with a feeling of peace.

Watson gently removed his hand from the sheets to reach for the flannel he had been keeping next to the bed for the mornings he had woken sweaty. He cleaned his hand and then Holmes'. Tossing the flannel back to it's spot on the bedside table he scooted closer to Holmes letting him wrap his arms around him as John pulled his face into a soft chasted kiss.

"Morning breath." John said as he broke the kiss and turned his head away. Holmes found he did not mind John's breath but respected Watson's need to avoid it.

"I missed you." John stated matter-of-factly.

"Mmmm" Holmes replied but it ment more to John than any open break of character for Sherlock making a declaration of love. The simple fact he had refrained from his usual scathing remark about stating the obvious helped mend so many small cuts in John. He knew it would not last but it was just what he needed now.

And so the morning after John Watson had decided to end his life it truely began again in the arms of the one and only person he had ever truely loved.


End file.
